


(Re)Born Yesterday

by TheRiverScribe



Series: By the Grace of God [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Season/Series 12, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Sam Winchester, Angelic Grace, Cage Trauma, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Dean Cooks, Enochian, Fledglings, Gen, Healing, Hell Flashbacks, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer's Cage, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, Post-Season/Series 11 AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repressed Memories, Team as Family, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRiverScribe/pseuds/TheRiverScribe
Summary: In less than 24 hours, the lives of the Winchesters and Castiel had been turned upside down.Dean survived Amara and Chuck's reconciliation, Mary was resurrected, Castiel's power was restored.And Sam's soul was carrying the grace of God—a gift that came with the unexpected consequence of regressing his body back to that of a small child.Now, they must learn how to adjust to each other as roles are redefined.The road to healing is not easy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enochian is in BOLD.

Castiel sat on the couch in patient observation of the newly-reunited Winchester family.  The night had been quiet so far, allowing the angel time to contemplate his Father's actions.  The healing of Sam Winchester's soul through the use of God's own grace was an astonishing gift.   And like everything associated with his Father's “mysterious ways,” it was wrapped in layers of complications. 

Sam was essentially now the first fledgling since the creation of the Earth.  There was no guarantee the Heavenly flock would accept him on sight and Castiel worried for the boy's safety.  He also had concerns about his own ability to teach Sam control. 

Castiel was a soldier—he had been trained in strategy, tactics, and how to win battles.  He had never been a nurturer or trained healer.  His experience with young angels was limited to passing observation. 

All of Heaven held them as their most precious commodity, especially since the angels didn't reproduce among themselves.  God had created each and every one of them, from the archangels all the way down to the cupids.  And now He had recreated Sam Winchester.

He stared intently at the small form of his young friend, remembering the terror he'd felt when the woman from the British Men of Letters had banished him from Sam's side.  It had taken him a couple hours to return to the bunker.  His fear and guilt at being unable to protect the only remaining Winchester was a driving force and he'd arrived prepared for the worst.  But when he discovered Dean and Mary...

As an angel, human emotions had always been a mystery.  Even during the months he spent living as a human, emotions had taken a back seat to understanding the new bodily sensations of hunger and exhaustion.  But since his co-habitation with Lucifer and his return to the waking world where his Father was now with them in the bunker, emotions were stronger and more prominent.  None more so than the joy and relief he felt at finding his best friend alive and well. 

Meeting Mary was a rushed moment, overshadowed by his need to find Sam.  But he recognized that there was a conflict of feeling—happiness for the boys who had lived without a loving parent most of their lives, and another emotion that made his stomach sour and chest tighten.  There had been no time to analyze what he had felt in that moment as they rushed into the bunker and discovered a pool of blood and no Sam. 

 _Protectiveness?  Jealousy?_  Castiel mused as his gaze shifted to the boys' mother.  The sour feeling from before had long faded.  He knew that initial stab of jealousy was a result of seeing the boys as _his_ charges for so many years.  Fear that she would try to replace him eased when he realized she had lost as much as the rest of them. 

As the evening progressed, he saw how unsure she was in her interaction with her sons.  Seeing Sam for the first time had shocked all of them.  Mary didn't know the boy, and Dean was torn between suspicion and incredulous disbelief.  But Castiel knew the child as soon as he saw him. 

What shocked him wasn't the fact that Sam looked younger and smaller.  No, it was the powerful radiating grace intertwined with the now-glowing familiar soul.  Never before had Castiel witnessed such a combination, and the urge to protect him was fierce.

By the time the Winchesters were asleep and Castiel had soothed away the beginnings of a nightmare for Mary, he realized he already considered her as another one of his charges.  Perhaps it would have been different if Sam was still fully human.  Then, Castiel would have been struggling with being the outcast of their little family.  But Sam was now more than a metaphoric brother—he was literally Castiel's youngest sibling. 

A tiny whimper drew his attention back to the brothers.  Sam was restless, turning away from his brother to face the wall.  The blankets had fallen off and the boy's body was tightly curled in on itself.  With barely a thought, Castiel flew to the bed, silently landing in the space between Sam and the wall without disturbing Dean. 

He placed a hand on Sam's back, trying to comfort him without the use of grace.  There was no telling how the new fledgling would react to it while asleep, but he suspected it would not go over well.  When Castiel had held Sam in the hallway to prevent his falling, the boy had reacted violently.  The words spoken in Enochian clued him in to the problem—that Sam recognized the sensation of grace and equated it with torture. 

Remembering Sam's more positive reaction to his wings, Castiel unfurled the right one and brushed his feathers across Sam's face and arms.  Vague memories of his own experiences as a young angel floated through his mind and he recalled the contentment and warmth found wrapped in a caretaker's embrace. 

Sam shifted closer as Castiel continued rubbing small circles on his back.  Hazel eyes blinked open, confused and sleepy, and looked up at him.  Recognition seemed to wake him up further and Castiel retracted his wing and hand as Sam pushed himself up to sitting.  His head swung around, taking in the sleeping figures of his brother and mother before returning to look at quiet angel.

“ **Castiel?** ” he whispered.

“ **Yes, Samuel?** ” Castiel replied, following Sam's lead in using Enochian. 

“ **What...what doing?** ”

Castiel wondered if Sam's use of broken Enochian was due to a lack of vocabulary or an affectation of fear associated to how he'd learned the language.  He desperately hoped it was the former.  Enochian was a beautiful language, complex in meaning and sound.  It was meant to create and worship, not hurt and destroy. 

“ **You were troubled in your sleep.  I was trying to ease you back to a peaceful state, but you woke up.  Are you alright?** ”

Sam nodded and rubbed at his eyes.  Castiel watched him fight a yawn, but before he could suggest going back to sleep he saw Sam's wide eyes focus just past Castiel's shoulder.  The angel smiled, knowing his wings were the object of Sam's fascination, and extended the right one.  Sam pulled back as it came closer.  When the wing stopped, he glanced up at Castiel before leaning in for a better look. 

The colors were reminiscent of an oil spill—black with swirls of bright colors reflecting on the surface.  Sam reached out a hand toward them, but yanked it back before they touched.  “ **Sorry!** ”

Castiel gave him a puzzled look.  “ **Why are you sorry?** ”

Sam ducked his head in avoidance.  “ **Is rude?  Touch is rude?** ”

“ **Are you asking if it is rude to touch my wings?** ” 

Sam nodded, but refused to look up.  Castiel pondered the situation for a second, unsure how to respond. 

“ **It is not considered rude for an angel to touch another angel's wings in Heaven.  In fact, it is quite common among those who have a close bond.  When we are young, caretakers would spend many hours grooming their charges' wings.  And the healers often focus on them when they healed and cleansed the grace of wounded soldiers.** ” 

He watched Sam's hands tighten in the blankets as though keeping himself from reaching out again.  “ **Is rude for...** ” he struggled to find the right word, “ **not-angel?** ”

“ **Most non-angels are not capable of seeing our wings unless we manifest them.  And even then, they usually only perceive their shadows.  So, I would not say it is 'rude' for them to touch as much as it is rarely a possibility.** ” 

Sam stayed quiet, occasionally glancing at the feathers out of the corner of his eye.  Castiel forced himself to remain still even as every instinct screamed to reach out and console his troubled friend.  It felt so wrong to see a fledgling carry such pain and fear and sorrow.  Even those destined to be warriors of Heaven spent centuries being nurtured and trained.  As far as Castiel knew, there was not a single member of the Host who had experienced what Sam had in their early life—including the fallen angels.  It was simply unheard of among creatures of grace. 

Taking a chance and praying he was not wrong, Castiel flicked the tip of his wing so a single feather tapped Sam's shoulder.  The boy gasped and scrambled back a few inches, stopping when he felt Castiel's steadying hand on his back.  He looked up at Castiel with uncertain eyes.  “ **But...but I not-angel!** ” he said in a voice laced with shock and a hint of accusation. 

Castiel tilted his head, listening to the unique hum of Sam's grace-soul.  It was a fascinating blend between what he called “Winchester humanity” (a soul shaped by sacrifice) and the perfection of his Father's love and grace.  “ **Samuel,** ” he smiled and bent down so they were eye-to-eye, “ **you have been part of my family for a long time.  And now, you carry the grace of our Father.  You are my family by choice and blood.  The only reason you have not been able to touch my wings before is because you were incapable of seeing or feeling them.  Now, you may.** ” 

Uncertainty washed away as tears filled Sam's eyes.  Unable to hold himself back any longer, Castiel reached his other hand toward the boy and pulled him in to a hug.  He felt the body tense before relaxing against his chest with a huff, circling his arms around Castiel's neck.  They sat there in silence for several minutes.  Then, Sam moved one of his hands to brush a finger against a wing. 

Castiel jumped slightly and made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh.  Sam immediately pulled back to look at his face, tiny features etched in worry and guilt.  But instead of anger or pain, he was greeted with an embarrassed smile.  “You didn't hurt me, Sam.  It just,” Castiel's cheeks turned a slightly pink, “I believe the closest term would be 'tickled.'”  The switch to English seemed to take Sam a second longer to process, but Castiel took it as a good sign when he sighed in relief.

“Ugh,” a gruff, deep voice sounded from beneath the blankets, startling both of them.  “What could you two possibly be whispering about at oh-dark-thirty in the morning?”  Dean pushed the blankets back and blinked up at them.  Then he blinked several more times like he didn't quite believe what he was seeing.  “Cas?  Why are you in the bed?”  His eyes darted between Castiel's chagrined expression and Sam, who was kneeling on the angel's lap and clutching his tiny hand to his chest like it had just been burned.  “Sammy, you okay?  What's wrong?”  Dean sat up, fully awake and prepared for crisis management. 

“I... yes, I mean... I didn't... **Sorry!  I not touch!** ” Sam stammered, unsure of what he should express to whom. 

“Sam, there is no need for apologies.  Like I said, it just tickled and it surprised me.  You may touch them whenever you wish.”

“Whoa! Hold the phone!” Dean said loudly.

Castiel frowned.  He let go of Sam to reach into the trench coat pocket and pull out his cell phone.  Then he turned expectantly toward Dean.  “Is this phone acceptable for holding?”

“What?  No!  I swear, Cas, sometimes...” Dean rubbed his face with his hands.

“Then why did you tell me to hold one?  What is the purpose?”  Castiel looked to Sam for clarification, but the boy was bent over.  Seeing his hands over his mouth and shoulders shaking, Castiel's confusion turned to concern.  “Sam?  Are you...?”  But as he reached out and touched Sam's shoulder, a jolt of amusement and mirth ran through him.  “Are you laughing at me?”

“Of course he's laughing at you!  I'd be laughing too, but I need coffee.  How long have you been around us?  'Hold the phone' means to stop what you're doing or saying!  How did Metatron miss that in his pop culture upload to your brain?” 

Castiel searched his memory and quickly realized that there were indeed several repetitions of that phrase in the thousands of stories given to him by the Scribe of God.  “Sorry, Dean,” Castiel was flushed again with embarrassment, “You are right.  I was just distracted and...”

“Is everything alright?”  Mary's voice was soft with sleep.  A small lamp turned on and they all looked to see her sitting up, tired but ready to act if needed. 

“Yeah,” Dean smiled and waved a hand at the two beside him, “just awkward early morning conversations with Thing 1 and Thing 2 here.  Sorry for waking you up, mom.” 

Castiel felt the burst of joy from all three Winchesters at the sound of her title.  He cleared his throat, “Yes, I apologize for waking both of you.  Sam and I were discussing my wings, and I discovered that they are slightly ticklish.”

Dean looked at Sam now that there was enough light to really see.  His little brother looked tired and tense, but his eyes were shining with laughter and he was smiling.  “I don't even want to know.”  A glance at his watch showed it was just after five o'clock in the morning.  “Well, since we're all up, who wants breakfast?”

Castiel found crawling off the bed to be much more cumbersome than flying onto it, but he managed.  Dean was already out the door and Mary was sitting on the edge of her bed, brushing out the tangles in her hair with her fingers.  He looked back in time to see Sam slide off the bed onto unsteady feet.  

Moving forward to help him, he stopped when Sam glared.  “ **No! You...** ” he shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed for a second.  It was clear he was frustrated and struggling internally with something.  When he started again, Castiel was relieved to hear him use clear English.  “You are not going to carry me everywhere.  I am smaller, not injured.  It'll just take me a bit to get used to—which won't happen if everyone keeps picking me up like some infant!” 

“As you wish,” Castiel nodded and saw Mary stand to join them, “although we should find you some socks.  And pants.”

Sam stopped by the door to turn and give Castiel a withering look.  “The only socks we have would be the _size_ of pants.”

“Well, Dean said something about shopping today,” Mary said, smiling at the too-familiar scowl, “It seems we are both in need of a new wardrobe.”

Sam tried to smile back, but it came out twisted and forced.  “I hate clothes shopping.” He turned to make his way toward the kitchen only to run smack into Dean.

“Don't lie.  You hate shopping period.”  Dean teased, grabbing his brother before he could fall.  Without pausing, he scooped Sam up and kept walking toward their kitchen.

“Damn it all!  Put me down, Dean!” Sam yelled, digging his feet into Dean's stomach and sides.  “I swear to g—Chuck, if you don't put me down I will kick you in the balls.” 

Dean stopped walking, but kept his hold firm.  “What is wrong with you?  Quit that!  If I drop you on your head, you'll have no one but yourself to blame...AHH!”  Dean cut off in a painful squawk and let go of Sam in favor of grabbing the nipple that had just been viciously twisted by little fingers.

Sam fell, landing on his butt instead of his head.  He quickly grabbed the hem of his over-sized shirt to keep covered when he remembered that no pants also meant no underwear.  He looked up to see Castiel sporting his usual long-suffering expression saved for when he was forced to endure the brothers' squabbles.  Mary, however, had her hands on her hips and an unreadable look on her face.  She seemed torn about whether or not she should intervene.

“Do they...?” she started, nudging Castiel with her elbow.

“This is normal.  And frequent,” he sighed, frowning at Sam when the boy kicked out a leg which connected with Dean's shin.

“Ow! Stop that you little shit!” Dean yelled, taking a wide step around his brother and stomping off down the hall. “See if you get any cool clothes.  I may just get you princess dresses!”

Castiel watched as Sam's anger became mixed with wary sadness, and wondered if clothes were a loaded topic for the boys.  He knew Dean was extremely partial to his old band shirts, but Sam didn't seem to have any particular attachment to clothing items.  Occasionally, the boys would make a run to a local thrift shop when their hunting clothes were destroyed beyond salvaging.  Sam always complained because they rarely carried anything in his size, but he never pushed to look in stores that sold new clothing.  In fact, Castiel was certain that Sam could still fit his entire wardrobe in one duffle bag in spite of having lived in the bunker for a few years now. 

He heard Mary let out a huff as she went and crouched down by her youngest.  “Are you hurt?”

Sam looked up in surprise and shook his head with a slight smile.  “Only my pride.”

“Yeah, that runs deep on both sides of our family.”  She held out a hand and waited for him to take it.  “Come on, let's make sure he doesn't burn all your food out of spite.”

After some hesitation, Castiel was pleased to see Sam reach up and take the offered help.  With Sam on his feet, however, Mary kept a firm grip on him and started walking slowly in the direction her eldest had stormed.  Sam stared mystified at their hands as he moved alongside his mother. 

“He won't burn the food,” Sam said instead of addressing the hand-holding situation.

“Oh?  How can you be sure?” Mary asked, curious about how her sons' relationship worked.

“Because we...” Sam broke off abruptly and looked forward to avoid Mary's gaze.

Castiel could feel the swirls of emotions emanating from the boy and opened himself to read it fully.  Images of empty cupboards and cold soup flowed with feelings of hunger and restless fear.  He heard the unspoken words Sam refused to say:  _Because we know better than to waste food.  Because we have been hungry and didn't know when or where our next meal would come from._

“Dean is a very good cook,” Castiel spoke up.  He received a surprised grateful smile from Sam.  Mary looked suspicious, but decided not to push.

“I see.  Does he cook a lot then?”

Sam nodded.  “Yeah, he loves it now that we have a kitchen.  You should have seen him when we first found the bunker and decided to stay.  He nested for months.”

Mary frowned.  “Did you not have a kitchen before you moved here?”

“Well, I guess some of the motels had kitchenettes,” Sam shrugged, “but we usually just got take-out or went to diners.”

Her frown deepened.  “And when you were growing up?  Did your father teach him how to cook?  Because the John I remember could barely boil water.”

Sam's laugh sounded strained.  “Uh, no.  Dean didn't even trust him to heat up my food when there was a microwave.” 

Castiel saw Mary open her mouth a few times like she wanted to ask more questions but kept stopping herself.  He knew that John had been a terrible father even though he'd meant well.  The boys were raised as soldiers, not children.  And he had the feeling that Mary would not be happy when she found out the details of the boys' early life. 

The sounds of water running and pans clanging led them to the kitchen where they found Dean assembling what seemed to be a feast's worth of ingredients.  The aroma of coffee and frying bacon filled the air.  “Took you guys long enough,” Dean spoke loudly over all the noise, “Coffee's ready.  Cas, can you grab the flour and sugar from the pantry?”

“What are you making?” Mary asked as she let go of Sam's hand to pour herself a cup.

When Castiel returned with two canisters he saw Sam trying to reach for a mug from the stack next to the percolator.   

“Pancakes! From scratch,” Dean declared proudly.  “Cas!  Don't just stand there.  Give me those.”

Castiel set the flour and sugar on the counter without taking his eyes off Sam.  The boy had pulled a stool over to the coffee stand and was now standing on his tiptoes to get the mug.  When he saw him turn to grab the coffee pot, Castiel moved swiftly. “Sam,” he said, looking down at the deceptively innocent face, “what are you trying to do?”

The others turned to look at them and Sam self-consciously withdrew his hand from the handle.  “Um, getting coffee?”

“More like 'trying to get third degree burns,'” Dean grunted while rolling his eyes. 

“Should you even be drinking coffee now?” Mary asked.

“What?!” Sam sputtered indignantly.  “I... yes, I _always_ drink coffee!”

Mary raised an eyebrow.  “In kindergarten?”

Sam's jaw dropped.  “I'm not _in_ kindergarten!  And I'm _not_ actually six.”

“Actually,” Dean spoke as he began measuring out ingredients for the pancake batter, “Sam did drink coffee in kindergarten.  Pretty sure I did too.”

“Why?” her voice was tense. 

Hearing the change in her tone, Dean looked up to see her watching him over the rim of her mug.  His eyes darted to Sam and Castiel.  The angel was unreadable, but Sam looked as lost as he felt.  Dean cleared his throat before addressing their mother again. 

“Um, well, I guess because we would sometimes stay up late.  And it kept us from getting in trouble for falling asleep in class,” he shrugged and looked down as he stirred the batter.  “I was already making it for dad before I left for school, so I just started drinking it too.” 

He didn't mention that it was often their only option besides tap water—orange juice didn't come free with their motel rooms and John refused to buy milk if they had no fridge.  He also didn't bring up the fact that they usually stayed up late because their father would be gone hunting and they were too anxious to sleep, equally worried about monsters and social services.

Dean shook his head, clearing away the memories.  Plastering a wide grin on his face, he tried to redirect the conversation.  “So, how does everyone want their eggs?” 

Mary pursed her lips, but allowed the change of topic and moved to help him with food prep.

With the crisis diverted, Castiel continued staring down at Sam who gave him a cheeky grin and held out his cup in a silent plea.  Sighing, he took it.  “Go sit down and I'll bring it to you.”

“Thanks Cas!” Sam jumped down and scrambled into a chair.  The coffee was placed in front of him and he frowned at the half-filled cup. “Hey...”

“Coffee can stunt the growth of children.” Castiel stated calmly, sitting next to him.

“Did I look like my growth was stunted?” Sam asked with a scowl, but quickly started sipping the hot drink before it could be taken away.  “And I'm _not_ a child.”

Castiel studied the 'not-child' intensely.  By human standards, the Winchester brothers had been adults for many years—far earlier than most people deemed healthy.  In fact, both would be considered elderly if their ages were measured by memories.  But Sam was incredibly young by angelic standards.  It took several centuries just to reach adolescence. 

“It is true that, as a human, you have been an adult for many years.  However, to angels you are known as a fledgling—a very young child.  I...” Castiel paused, wishing Sam would look at him, “I know this is not easy for you, Sam.  You see yourself as an adult and as such, you expect to act and be treated a certain way.  But everything is different now.  _You_ are different now.”

Sam finally looked up.  “So what am I?”

“You are a child of Heaven,” Castiel said seriously.

“That's all very sweet, Cas,” Sam cringed, “but I need something more specific.  Like, _how_ am I different?  I mean, you're right—I keep expecting to react to things one way, but I don't!  Instead, I'm crying or angry or scared.  And it's not like I've never felt these things before, but I can usually control myself better.  I could push it down and lock it away until there was time to deal with it.  Now,” he shook his head, “ **now everything strong, loud, and I not** …”  His throat burned, and he stopped speaking to avoid the indignity of more tears. 

“ **Samuel, when I say 'child of Heaven' I do not use it as a turn of phrase.** ”  Castiel rested a hand on the boy's shoulder.  “ **Grace is the raw essence of God, the fundamental fabric of creation.  It makes you an incredibly powerful being because it connects us to the foundations of the universe.  You exist in more dimensions, can travel through time-lines and realities, manipulate matter.  But it takes time to learn and understand.  It takes experience.  Until then, the grace will probably be overwhelming.** ”

“What are you two nerds talking about now?” Dean asked, placing platters of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table.

“Grace,” Castiel answered simply.  Dean nodded and left again to retrieve plates and silverware. 

Mary joined them with the pancakes and a glass of milk which she set in front of Sam.  “You mentioned grace yesterday,” she said as she and Dean sat across from them.  “I have to admit, I didn't understand any of it.  I was pretty much stuck at 'angels are real' and 'God is a guy named Chuck.'”

Castiel explained the basics of grace while Dean served up the food.  She asked a few questions about angels and Heaven and religion, but didn't stray into personal territory.  No one wanted to spoil their first family breakfast with stories of trauma.  And Castiel knew Mary was smart enough to recognize that her boys had definitely experienced numerous hardships.  However, he didn't think she quite realized the extent of it all yet.

Throughout the meal, they told funny stories of prank wars, embarrassing hunting events, and good times with friends.  Mary shared memories of them prior to her death—family outings, diaper disasters, and Dean as a toddler.  The boys listened in awe, hanging on her every word.  Their father had never discussed life before Mary.  Within an hour, they knew more about their early life than they ever dreamed. 

Castiel mostly observed, only chiming in occasionally.  He watched Dean fret over how much food to give Sam and fuss over his mother like a hyper-vigilant waiter.  Sam picked at his food, preferring to stare at Mary like she might disappear if he blinked.  And Mary seemed content with being able to give her boys pieces of their history, bonding with them anew.

“So,” Mary started when they had cleared all the dishes from the table, “when do we go shopping?  Because I'm not sure how long I can go around wearing pants that are in constant danger of falling off.  And Sam needs...well, everything, I guess.”  She looked over her youngest with a critical eye, taking in his round cheeks and soft curls in his hair.  “How old do you think you are now, Sam?  I mean, physically?”

“Um...” Sam looked down at his hands, but had no real memories to reference.

“Six, maybe six and a half,” Dean said with confidence.  Mary and Sam stared in surprise.

“How do you know?” asked Castiel when no one else spoke.

Dean reached over and tugged gently on one of Sam's curls.  “His hair.  It stopped curling by the time he was seven, and it wasn't this long until he was about six.”  He let go of the curl and smiled when it bounced up and hit Sam's nose.  “Alright kids, let's get this shopping fiasco out of the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enochian is in BOLD.

Sam sat in the back of the Impala with Castiel.  He couldn't remember how long it was since he hadn't felt cramped sitting behind his brother.  Now, his knees didn't even reach the edge of the seat, leaving his bare feet to dangle out in front of him.  The seat belt cutting across his neck left him feeling choked.  And he could barely see out the window.  With nothing to look at except the car interior and patches of sky, the back seat felt like a cage.

To add insult to injury, he was still wearing the giant white t-shirt like a dress.  The lack of clothes and diminished size left him feeling vulnerable.  The prospect of crowded aisles, packed full of people and merchandise, turned his stomach. 

Since Dean had left to fight the Darkness, everything seemed like a dream—or an extravagant hallucination.  Just yesterday, his memories of the Cage were blurred under the distance of years and layers of repression.  He had the occasional dream and flashback, but there was always something else worthy of distraction.  Now, he remembered the Cage and Lucifer perfectly.

That thought had Sam digging a thumb into his left palm, but it didn't help.  Holding his hand up to the light, he studied the flawless skin.  The scar was missing.  The place sliced open on glass shards and stitched back together by Dean was smooth.  The wound he'd continuously re-opened to ward off hallucinations of Lucifer and discern what was real in a world rife with illusion was gone.

Sam pinched his palm harder, trying to force his mind to focus on the present.  The pain was different without the scar tissue and damaged nerves.  He tried pinching the inside of his wrist, arm, and elbow to see if they did a better job grounding him. 

While there wasn't the instant gratification of seeing Lucifer flicker out of existence, it did distract from the mounting anxiety.  He moved on to his legs, methodically pinching from thigh to ankle.  The skin turned pale white before growing dark red in each place.  It became an experiment, cataloging the various sensations and visual side effects. 

When changed his tactic to scratching, a large hand wrapped itself loosely around the offending fingers.  Looking up, Sam found Castiel watching him in concern.  “ **Samuel, you are hurting yourself.  Why?** ”

Sam saw the others glance back at them, but they seemed to accept Sam and Castiel's Enochian conversations as private, and their attention didn't linger.  “ **I...** ”  he wasn't sure how best to explain, **“it helps?** ”

“ **What is it helping?** ” Castiel pressed quietly as he gently rubbed the abused skin.

“ **I know real.  Keep me here, or wake me up.  Pain more real. Different from...before.** ” He clenched his free hand, digging the small fingernails into his palm. 

“ **Before?** ”

Sam swallowed down nausea as his mind jumped to lakes of fire and raining lava.  “ **The Cage.  Lucifer hurt me, but it different.** ”

“Ah,” Castiel sighed in understanding, “ **Are you having trouble distinguishing between reality and memory?** ” 

Sam nodded silently, worried that he would either vomit or cry if he spoke.  A sensation like cool water flowed over his skin, soothing away the nausea.  Looking up, he caught the glow of grace for a second in Castiel's eyes before they returned to their normal blue. 

The angel smiled sadly.  “ **Your human mind was incapable of dealing with the centuries of imprisonment and pain.  Neither was your soul.  By giving you His grace, our Father has provided an opportunity for healing, but it will take time for you to properly process those memories.  Be patient with yourself, and know that you are not alone on this path.** ”

Sam was speechless with gratitude and slumped exhausted against Castiel's side.  He had never really experienced the kind of support Castiel was offering from anyone besides Dean.  And their relationship, while currently solid, had been shredded and burned countless times over the years.  There were others who had been friends and allies—Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie, Kevin.  But they were all gone.  Dead because of their association with the Winchesters. 

“Are you two done passing notes back there?  Because we're here.”  Dean was giving Sam a measured look that said he didn't need to understand their words to know something was wrong.  The brothers' had their own language comprised of gestures, nods, and glances.

Sam gave his best smile, but his brother saw right through it judging by the increased concern on Dean's face.  “Yeah, let's get this over with.”

“Wow, you boys must really hate shopping,” Mary said, sensing the tension, “You'd think we were going into a nest of demons instead of Walmart.”

“Actually, I think we'd prefer the demons,” Dean said seriously. 

* * *

Castiel got out of the backseat and walked around to the other side.  He lifted Sam out for the car and settled him on his hip.  The lack of shoes meant he had to submit to being carried again.  Dean had fought to be the one to carry him, but Castiel won based on his lack of clothing knowledge and untiring strength. 

Dean grabbed an abandoned cart from the parking lot and they all made their way inside.  “Everyone remember our cover story?” he mumbled.  They were going with the “tale of lost luggage and airsickness” as their excuse for carrying around a mostly-naked child. 

Once inside, they headed straight for the kids' clothing area.  For a while, Dean just grabbed packs of generic t-shirts, underclothes, and socks.  Mary looked confused by the lack of input from the angel and her youngest.   “Dean?” she started, unsure if she was overstepping her bounds, “How limited is our budget?”

“What?” he looked surprised by the question.

“I just...we haven't talked at all about finances, so I have no idea how we're paying for this.” She gestured toward the small pile of plain clothes. “These prices are so much higher than they were thirty years ago!”

“Don't...there is no budget.  No limit.  Get whatever you want, and don't worry about money.”  Dean blushed, not quite ready to explain their credit card scams. 

“Well, in that case,” she picked through a rack of print shirts, “do you think Sammy would like something with a bit more...variety?  Or color?”

“Um,” Dean grabbed two sets of socks, comparing prices and quantity, “I don't know.  Maybe?”

Mary stared at blue shirt with a cartoon starfish and tried to imagine her sons as children.  “What did he like to wear when he was little before?”

“He's not actually a kid, though.”  Dean decided to go with the package that held more pairs.  Sam had always gone through socks faster than any other clothing item. 

“Yes, I know that,” she glanced over to where Castiel was standing and studying a clothing display featuring superheroes with Sam, “The fact is I have no idea what he wore—as an adult or a kid.  And if I understand the situation right, he isn't going to change back anytime soon which means he's going to wear these clothes until he outgrows them.  Right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean stopped browsing and turned toward his mother, unsure of her point.

“Well, what is he comfortable wearing?  What's his style or favorite color? It can't be plain white t-shirts.”

“We, uh, we don't really make clothes a priority,” he said with a strained laugh.

“Dean,” she hesitated, “I don't really know my place here yet—especially with you boys.  So, if I'm overstepping, please feel free to tell me.  But I've seen you with Sammy.  I know you both grew up too soon, and that you probably took care of him more than most big brothers.”

“So?” Dean asked defensively. 

“So, if you know his exact age based solely on the length of his curls, why can't you tell me what he likes to wear?”

Her tone was gentle, but it still hit Dean like a slap.  Images of child-Sam in ill-fitting hand me downs flashed in his mind.  Seeing himself learning how to sew holes and patches to make old clothes last even longer, making belts out of blind cords stolen from motels, late night laundromat trips to get the unacceptable smells and stains out of the outfits fished from church free-bins.

Dean looked Mary in the eye and hoped the fear of her judgment didn't show.  “I guess because we've never done this.  Not really.  I mean, we've gone a couple times to get cheap suits for undercover work.  And we hit up thrift stores once in a while to replace our stuff when it's ruined on hunts.  But we grew up that way.  Clothes were cheap or free, and we didn't usually have a choice.  Especially Sam—he always got my clothes before anything else.”  He ran his fingers through his hair to ease the shame of trying to explain such a small part of their childhood to his mother.  Knowing she would be horrified if she learned even half of the things they lived through as kids—and that he would be the reason if she ended up hating John.  “You're right, though.  I should know these things.  Even if I couldn't get him new clothes, I should have known what he wanted.”

“Sweetheart,” she said gently, wrapping an arm around his back in a half-hug.  She started to say something more, but stopped and smiled instead.  “How about we ask him?”

Dean nodded, and relaxed at her easy affection.  “Sammy!  Get over here!” he called and watched Castiel walk them back to the cart. 

“What?” Sam hissed in a whisper.

“Whoa there.  I'd ask what got your panties in a twist, but I know you aren't wearing any,” Dean teased with a frown, studying his brother.  “Why are you whispering?  This isn't some stealth mission.”

“I...” Sam exhaled slowly.  “Nothing, it's just a headache.  What's going on?”

Dean glanced at Castiel but he just gave a small shake of his head.  Whatever was going on, Dean would have to get it out of them later.  “Pick out some clothes or I'm getting you all Frozen gear.”

Sam looked in the cart and saw the packs of plain white clothing.  “Those are fine,” he said, shrugging.

Mary stepped forward.  “They are fine as undershirts.  But you need other things.  Long-sleeves and dress shirts, pants and shorts, shoes...”

Sam's eyes widened with each item listed.  Looking to Dean proved useless.  His brother was just as uncomfortable, but nodded in firm agreement with Mary.  “I don't need that many things...”

Castiel cleared his throat.  “Sam likes neutrals and earth-tones—no designs or logos.  He also prefers to dress in layers.  And, if I might add, with his new...sensitivity, it would be best for him to wear softer, less abrasive cloth-types.” 

Mary smiled in gratitude.  “I can work with that.”  She grabbed a couple long-sleeved gray shirts and held them up to Sam, checking the different sizes against him.  “Dean, how about you grab some different pants and we'll see if we can't figure out his size before he tries them on.”

Soon, their cart was filled with more clothes than either boy had owned at any one point in time.  The staff at the dressing rooms were very sympathetic to their story of lost luggage, and allowed them to go ahead and open the underwear so he could try on pants.  Mary left the boys to pick out her own clothes and quickly rejoined them. 

Two hours later, Sam was beyond exhausted.  Fully dressed for the first time since being shot, he still allowed Castiel to carry him.  Mostly because he was half-asleep and Castiel was actively blocking him from absorbing the thoughts and feelings of the crowd.  The angel had explained that Sam's grace was stronger than he'd anticipated.  It was instinctively reaching out in new places to learn and explore everything, including the people.  The first twenty minutes of their shopping trip had been agony in Sam's skull. 

By the time they reached the Impala, Castiel insisted on continuing to hold his sleeping charge for the return drive.  “As an angel, I can keep Sam far safer than some 'boosting' seat.”

Dean knew Castiel would have done air-quotes if his arms weren't full of snoring mini-Sam.  “Fine, it's on you to fix it if we get pulled over by a cop for endangering the life of a minor.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said as he adjusted Sam so the boy was laying down more.

“Wonderful,” Dean muttered.

* * *

_Time eventually lost its meaning in the Cage._

_In the beginning, Sam was vaguely aware of its passing only because Lucifer was fond of anniversaries.  Every decade marked the start of a new theme.  Ice that crystallized the blood in his veins and caused body parts to shatter.  Water continuously dripped onto his forehead, running down the straps keeping him immobile, and filling the room until he drowned.  Razors, knives, chains, and whips wielded by visages of everyone Sam had ever known._

_But the physical pain seemed child's play in comparison the Lucifer's mind games.  During the brief time the archangel had inhabited his true vessel, he learned every secret, every fear, every thought Sam had ever experienced.  And he utilized every single one._

_His favorite was a variation of Gabriel's 'Mystery Spot.'  Lucifer would trap Sam in time loops and force him to relive every trauma, every mistake, every shameful moment of his life._

_Five years re-experiencing the day he left for Stanford and no matter what Sam did differently his father always found the letter.  Twenty years watching Jess burning on the ceiling over his head.  Fifteen years helplessly screaming from the back of his mind as he replayed the week he spent possessed by Meg.  Thirty years dedicated to the actual 'Mystery Spot' Tuesday, now featuring new scenarios courtesy of Lucifer's imagination.  Another ten years where Sam existed floating in an endless black void with only his hearing—and Dean's snarling voice repeating the dreaded voicemail from the day Sam released Lucifer from the Cage._

_Not much changed when Sam lost his physical body.  The Cage was a virtual reality prison where the inside was controlled by the archangels.  And since Lucifer loved to hear Sam scream and beg, he manipulated reality and forced Sam to continue existing on a physical level.  After a few years, Sam forgot he'd ever even lost his body._

_Occasionally, Sam's soul was pushed to the side when Lucifer became distracted by Michael.  The two archangels would scream in their native tongue and tear at each other.  Their true forms filled the Cage, leaving no space for Sam to hide.  Their grace burned and shredded everything in its path._

_Such was the case now.  Michael had again found the corner where Lucifer had been 'teaching' Sam Enochian.  The Light-Bringer had Sam locked in an electrified dog cage.  Every time Sam got a word wrong or spoke English, the wire walls channeled enough volts to cook grid patterns into his skin.  The current lesson had been going on for seven years when Michael interrupted._

_Sam huddled in the cage, watching in horror as the two brothers went at it.  Michael abandoned his vessel to meet Lucifer mid-flight in a blinding clash of grace and rage.  But Sam stared at the still figure lying broken on the ground just a few feet away.  Adam's body was twisted and decomposing.  The only comfort Sam found was that it also appeared to be vacant.  He only hoped that his little brother's soul had vacated when Castiel had holy fire-bombed Michael in the cemetery._

_An eternity passed before Sam heard Lucifer return, once again taking the form of his previous vessel Nick.  He looked at the crumpled vessel vacated by Michael with a look of revulsion.  “ **How rude of him, leaving his trash here to litter our classroom.** ”  His foot shot out, and the kick sent Adam's body flying far enough away that Sam couldn't see where it landed. _

_Lucifer turned to smirk at Sam's shaking form.  “ **Well, my favorite pet, shall we continue?** ” _

* * *

The drive back to the bunker was quiet but pleasant.  Dean's tape of choice was playing softly to not wake Sam.  Occasionally, someone would speak, but mostly they all kept to their thoughts.

A few miles from the bunker, Castiel felt Sam's body tense.  A whimper escaped through thin lips.  Years of watching over the boys' sleep had trained him to recognize the signs of nightmares and deal with them before they took solid hold.  He tried to calm him using a small amount of grace, hoping Sam would recognize him.  It was met with a sob as the boy twisted and fought in his arms. 

“Dean!  Pull over!” Castiel ordered as he yanked back his grace and tried using his hands to soothe Sam.

At the first sound of distress, Dean snapped off the music.  A glance in the mirror showed his friend's mounting concern and he immediately pulled onto the dirt shoulder.  The road to the bunker ran through a heavily wooded area, and traffic was thankfully rare.  It definitely worked in their favor when Castiel bolted from the car and ran with Sam to the edge of the woods.  Once there, he sat on a fallen tree and hunched over the boy, rocking slightly.

Dean and Mary jumped out of the car in time to see arcs of electricity run from Sam to Castiel to the ground.  “Stay back!” Castiel shouted as he realized Sam was lashing out in his sleep.  Wild tendrils of grace shocked his wings like a low-volt taser—strong enough to hurt, but not incapacitate. 

Panicked screams coincided with the Impala's engine roaring to live.  Then the headlights shattered in a blaze of sparks and glass, and the engine fell silent. Castiel had no time to answer the others' shouts and questions as he raised his wings to buffer the unrestrained grace.

Gathering Sam close, he caught images and sensations pouring off the boy.  Saw the Cage and understood why his grace was mimicking electricity.  He cradled Sam to his chest with one arm and placed his free hand over the boy's forehead, trying to wake him with words and touch.  “ **Wake up, Samuel.  You are dreaming.  Wake up and see that you are safe.  You are safe with your brother and family.  Wake up!** ” 

Castiel continued a litany of reassurances while he again tried to use his own grace to control the chaos erupting from the boy.  Sam fought against him, kicking and scratching where he could, but Castiel didn't stop until he felt the boy respond.   The frantic grace slowly settled under a layer of his own, but Sam continued to fight with his body.

The sound of a throat clearing drew Castiel's attention and he was unsurprised to see Dean had ignored his warning to stay away.  “What's happening, Cas?” he asked, voice shaking with concern.

“We must wake him up,” the angel explained, “I couldn't stop the nightmare in time and his grace became violent.” 

Dean glanced at the scattered glass on the ground.  “Can I touch him?”

“Yes, I've got it controlled for now, but he needs to wake up.  I may not be strong enough to contain it for long.”  Castiel's voice was strained.  “Perhaps he will respond better to you.”

Dean nodded and moved closer to his brother.  He covered a flailing fist with one of his own hands and placed his other onto his brother's chest.  “Come on, Sammy, time to wake up.  Rise and shine!  Open your eyes, come on!”  He used his knuckles to rub hard across Sam's sternum.  “Hey, Sam, wake up!” Dean barked his words, infusing as much authority and command into his voice as possible. 

Sam took a shuddering breath and jolted awake.  Dean immediately gentled his touch and simply rested his palm over his brother's pounding heart.  He watched Sam's wide eyes dart around, uncertainty written all over his face at the strange sight of trees and foliage.

“ **Real?** ” he rasped dryly, looking between Dean and Castiel. 

“ **Yes, this is real.  Your brother and I are both real, and you are no longer trapped.  You are safe.** ”  Castiel brushed the boy's sweat-drenched hair away from his face before continuing in English.  “Would you like to sit up?”

Sam's body tensed at the change and looked at Castiel in suspicious horror. “ **Trick?!** ” The word was an accusation and question.

“ **What do you believe is a trick?** ” Castiel asked.

For a moment, the angel didn't think Sam would answer.  The boy was clearly torn, still scared from his memories and unsure of this reality.  “ **Wrong words mean punishment.** ” 

Castiel wanted to weep.  Why had they never asked Sam about his experiences in the Cage?  How could they possibly heal the vast number of memories festering in his mind? 

 _Father, I do not know if I am best suited to help Samuel.  Please, grant us wisdom and strength.  This child is powerful and broken, and I fear I will not be enough to see him through this._   He sent up the silent prayer as he slowly re-positioned Sam more upright, hoping it would help him feel more awake and in control. 

“We do not punish each other here, Samuel.  You may speak in any language you wish.  However, your brother and mother do not understand Enochian.” He heard Dean make a choked sound as the man moved to sit next to them on the tree trunk.

Dean gathered his brother's tiny fists into his own.  He used his thumbs to rub Sam's palms, easing the muscles in the clenched hands.  It drew Sam's attention away from Castiel and he had to force a smile when he saw uncertainty in those hazel eyes.  “Hey there, kiddo.  Are you awake now?”

Sam stared for a moment before nodding. 

Dean's smile grew warmer, more genuine.  “Good.  That's good,” he sighed in relief. 

“Is he okay?” Mary's voice was low and shaky.

“I think so.”  Dean turned toward his mother and saw her edge closer to them.  The boy hadn't moved and his eyes were still glazed in shock.   

Mary joined them, taking off her new jacket and passing it to Dean to place over his brother's shoulders.  “We should get him back to the bunker.  It might be easier on him being in a familiar place.”

“Good plan.  What do you say, Sammy?” Dean released Sam's hands and held out his arms in invitation.  They all held their breaths when there was no immediate response, but eventually Sam leaned forward and reached for his brother.  Dean picked him up and got to his feet.  “Cas, can you drive us back?   If the car starts?”

Castiel gave Dean a startled look, but the protectiveness pouring off the hunter let him know Dean wasn't going to relinquish his hold on Sam anytime soon.  “Of course, Dean.”

It took a few tries, but the Impala did start.  Dean sat in the backseat, muttering reassurances in Sam's ear as they drove the final ten minutes to the bunker.  The boy trembled the entire way as he stared unseeing out the window at the passing trees.  Mary spent the ride turned around in her front seat so she could keep an eye on them. 

As they pulled into the Men of Letter's garage, Dean was startled when Castiel slammed on the brakes.  “What the hell, Cas?”  Castiel's body was tightly wound and his angel blade suddenly appeared in his hand.  The sight of it stopped Dean from commenting on mishandling his car and went on high alert.  “What is it?”

“There is someone in the bunker,” Castiel reported.

“Who?  Is it those British bastards again?” Dean shifted Sam enough to pull his gun out.

“It is not human.”  Castiel frowned in concentration.  “I can't identify them, but I know it's an angel.  I can feel their grace.” 

“Do you think it's...” Dean couldn't say Lucifer's name.  Not with Sam clinging to him in leftover terror caused by memories of the archangel.

Castiel seemed to hear the unspoken name anyway, shaking his head as he carefully got out of the car.  “No.  I would be able to recognize him now.”

“Bring me the keys.  We need weapons from the trunk.”  Dean moved around to the back of the car.  He mentally sorted through their inventory to figure out what would be the best choice with which to arm Mary.  “How are you with a blade, mom?”

“I may be a little rusty, but I always preferred them to guns,” she said in full hunter mode. 

Dean opened the trunk and swore at the dozens of shopping bags covering the weapons compartment.  However, before he could reach for them Sam stirred in his arms.  The boy's body stopped shaking and his eyes focused on the door leading into the bunker.

“Sam?” Dean asked, unsure of the change in his brother.  Castiel moved to stand in front of them as the door opened.  They stared at the figure who slowly walked out.

“It's about time you kids got back.  Do you know that your kitchen is completely lacking in any real junk food?  Seriously, how do you even live?”  The man leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.  Whiskey-gold eyes twinkled with humor and confidence.

Castiel almost dropped his angel blade as he took a step forward.  “Gabriel?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enochian is in BOLD.  
> Angel Radio/thoughts in /italics/.

No one moved. 

Sam felt Castiel's disbelief and Dean's protective rage and Mary's confusion all hit like a shock wave.  But Gabriel—he radiated pure power.  It filled every inch of space around them, tingling along Sam's skin and charging the air.  He dug his fingers into Dean's shirt and pressed himself as close as he could to his brother.  Encounters with archangels never went well for them.  He watched, barely breathing, as the deceptively shorter man walked toward them. 

“Gabriel?” Castiel repeated.  His wings rose up as he moved into a protective stance. 

“Whoa there, Cassie!” Gabriel held his hands up in mock surrender.  “Is that any way to greet your favorite big brother?”

“How are you here?” Castiel demanded.  “ _Why_ are you here?”

“Well, you see, that is a funny story.”  Laughter echoed in the garage as he circled closer.  “There I was, dead after sacrificing myself for the sake of humanity and puppies.  And the next thing I know, BOOM BABY!”  Sam jumped as Gabriel's voice rose unexpectedly.  “Dad is standing there, smiling at me.  And the weirdest part of this whole situation wasn't Dad wearing Chuck-the-prophet, or that we were reuniting in His own personal bar, or even the fact that I was _alive._   No, the weirdest part was seeing Auntie Amara standing next to Him.  _Also smiling_!”  He paused as though he was unable to believe his own story.

“I thought Chuck said He didn't have the juice to bring him back,” Dean whispered to Castiel and turned his body to shield Sam from the archangel's view.

“Uniting His power with Amara would be more than enough to recreate an archangel.  I imagine They could create entire universes together without much effort,” Castiel replied without taking his eyes off of Gabriel.

“I get the feeling that you guys definitely have a more interesting story to tell.”  Gabriel smirked at Mary for a second, then turned toward Dean and froze.  The humor fell away, replaced by a strange seriousness and awe, and Castiel edged closer toward Dean. 

Sam's eyes locked on Gabriel and he felt his breathing grow fast and shallow.  As much as Dean felt like safety, he knew better.  Nothing was safe when an archangel had you in its sights.  Taking advantage of Dean's distraction, Sam shoved and slipped out of his brother's grasp. 

“Sam, no!” Dean reached for him, but Sam was running as soon as his feet hit the ground. 

He tore past the Men of Letters' cars, grateful to be wearing shoes as he skidded outside onto the gravel driveway.  In the back of his mind, he knew it was hopeless to try and outrun anyone—let alone an angel and archangel.  But the Cage was deafening and closing in around him.  In his centuries of experience being the plaything of Lucifer, he never gave up on a chance to escape. 

So, he ran. 

Voices and footsteps followed him, but he didn't turn around.  The rush of wings filled the air just as his body collided with a familiar beige trench coat.  Suite-clad legs folded and Sam's vision filled with blue eyes.  “ **Samuel...** ” was all the angel got out before furious tiny fists connected with his face.

Sam let out a primal scream, blinded by the rage of being stopped.  Arms wrapped around him from behind and he tried to turn and fight the new embrace.  The lack of grace made a part of his mind pause long enough for a distinctly feminine voice to reach his ears. 

“Shh, shh, I got you, baby.  It's okay, Sammy, I got you.  Shh, that's it.  Just breathe for me.  Can you do that? Just slow down and breathe.”  The voice was soothing, and Sam found he wanted to listen and follow what it said.  Footsteps crashed through the foliage behind them and he tensed, ready to run and fight again.  “No, baby, it's just Dean.  Just your brother.  He protects you, right?  Dean, come around here where he can see you.”

Ragged breaths tore through Sam's throat with a growl, teeth grinding and body vibrating with the need to flee.  The footsteps slowed as they got closer until his brother appeared, kneeling by his side.  “Sammy,” Dean was out of breath, “Hey kiddo, we gotta stop meeting like this.”  He reached a hand to his little brother's face but yanked it back when Sam growled even harder.  “Whoa there, dude!  Look at me, Sam.  Who am I? Hmm? Come on, you know who I am.”

Sam snarled instead of answering and tried to twist out of the arms again.  But while the body holding him was soft, the grip was strong and unmoving.  No one spoke for a while.  They stayed still and silent as Sam expended all his energy on trying to escape.  As the minutes ticked by, the boy's body gradually grew more and more weak until he eventually slumped against his captor in defeat. 

“Okay, it's okay, I've got you.  Shh.  Good boy, just relax.  No one will hurt you or take you.”  Mary kept up a whispered litany of praise and promises until she felt her son's breathing even out.  She relaxed her grasp and ran her hands over Sam's arms and back.  She had learned how to deal with the occasional war flashback when John had first returned from the service.  And while she would never grab or restrain him during the episode, he'd let her know that gentle touches and words afterwards helped to ground him back in the present.  “Talk to him Dean.”

“Hey there, Sammy,” Dean said with a tired smile, “You back with us again?  I can't believe I ever doubted your ability to hunt while small, because damn kid, you fight dirty!  I swear, you are like a tiny ninja or something.”  His smile grew stronger and Sam felt himself trying to return it.  Dean ruffled his curls.  “That's my boy.  I was worried I'd have a feral puppy for a brother instead of a kid.  Then I would have had to get those weird puppy pads and train you to fetch beer out of the fridge for me...”

“Dean!” Mary sounded torn between the need to be reassuring for her youngest and horrified at her eldest's dark humor. 

“What?” Dean asked, still completely focused on Sam.  He fussed with the boy's clothes more than necessary, straightening and smoothing the fabric to reassure both of them.  That action plus the familiar gruff banter cut through Sam's panic more than anything else ever could, and he kicked a few leaves onto Dean's knees.  The scowl he was met with only served to melt it further.  Sam mustered up a weak bitch-face in return and fisted his hands in Dean's shirt collar.  “ **Treat me like dog, I chew you shoes and poop on dead man robe,** ” he croaked out, then dissolved into a coughing fit.

“What?” Dean asked again as Mary patted the boy's back, “Cas, what did he say to me?  I know that tone—he totally just said something bitchy...I mean bratty.”  Mary's stern look was as impressive as Sam's on his best day. 

Castiel coughed, and when Dean turned to look he caught a blush over top the flabbergasted expression.  “He said if you treat him like a dog, he will 'chew on your shoes' and,” he looked at Sam questioningly, “'poop on the dead man robe?'  I do not understand.”

Dean whirled back on Sam.  “You wouldn't dare.”

Sam managed a grin that said _try me_.  Dean just rolled his eyes and lifted him into his arms.  For a moment, he just held him close, grateful for the immediate crisis to be over.  “You scared me,” he murmured as he walked a short distance away from the others.  A second later he added, “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam answered in a hoarse whisper that made Dean tighten his arms just a little more. 

“You really okay?” Dean wanted to pull back to look at Sam's face, but the need to keep him close was greater.  Sam's head nodded, then switched to shaking.  “Was that a yes and a no?  Or are you just changing your vote?”

“I—I'm not okay.”  Sam ended up being the one to lean back so they were face to face.  “I don't know if I can do this, Dean.  I mean, this is worse than when the wall broke and I had hallucinations constantly.  What if I can't handle it?  What if I end up back in a hospital again with L-Lu-Lucifer as a roommate?  I feel like I'm going crazy!”  Tears filled his vision and blurred Dean's face.

“Hey, none of that!  We're the freakin' Winchesters, man.  Yesterday, we stopped the total annihilation of the damn universe with nothing but our supreme ability to have chick-flick moments!”

Sam gave a tired laugh.  “Yeah, okay.  I guess you're right.”

“Please,” he huffed, then continued in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, “ _I know you're right, Dean.  You're always right because you're older and wiser and more handsome._ ”

“I do _not_ sound like that!” Sam squeaked with a slap to Dean's shoulder.

“ _I'm sorry it's taken me so long to see the error of my ways.  How can I make it up to you?_ ”

“I _will_ shit on that damn robe!”  Sam warned.

Dean gasped, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Sam's head turned quickly to check if Mary had heard him, but she was talking with Castiel.  “Yeah, do I know how to make a great first impression or what?  I can't even imagine what she thinks of me at this point.”

“Look at me,” Dean said, suddenly serious.  Sam ducked his head, but Dean wasn't having it.  “No, Sam, look at me.”  Miserable eyes met Dean's clear green gaze.  “Mom loves you.  Always has, always will, no matter your age or size.  She doesn't know anything about us or what we've gone through, and her first instinct is still to protect us.  When I first found her, she didn't know who I was—didn't even remember dying until I told her.  Right now, she is trying to adjust to a world and family that has moved on for 33 years without her.  And we are still her priority.  When you ran from the garage, she _beat me_ getting to you.”

“That's because you live off cheeseburgers and pie,” Sam said, fighting back fresh tears.

“Bitch,” Dean whispered, drawing Sam back to him.

Sam relaxed against Dean's chest again, placing his ear over the steady drum of his brother's heartbeat.  “Jerk,” he said just as quiet. 

* * *

Castiel kept an eye on the brothers as they talked to each other privately.  He was relieved to hear Sam speaking English again—or speaking at all, for that matter.  Mary was shaking as the adrenaline worked its way out of her system.  He bent down and picked up her jacket that had fallen off Sam in the struggle.  Handing it to her, she gave him a weak smile of gratitude and huddled into it. 

“So,” she began slowly, “who is that guy back in the garage?  I heard you call him Gabriel, and he called you brother, so am I right in assuming...”

Castiel sighed.  “He is the archangel Gabriel.  He died several years ago, killed by Lucifer during the Apocalypse.”

“Excuse me?” she demanded.  “Apocalypse?  And do you mean the _actual_ Lucifer?  As in Satan?!”

“Um,” Castiel stalled, unsure how much to tell her without the boys present, “Yes?”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I am referring to Lucifer, the fallen archangel who is now commonly called 'Satan' by humans.  And the Apocalypse was started, but we managed to stop it as you can see by the fact that the Earth is still here.”  Castiel kept his eyes on the boys, avoiding Mary's gaze out of shame.  He knew none of them looked forward to her finding out the details of the past few decades, but it was clear they would have to discuss it soon.  She was too intelligent and observant not to pick up on the fact that both Sam and Dean had been severely damaged by their past experiences—and she was too loving and protective to not demand an explanation.

Mary let out a long breath and followed his gaze to her boys.  Dean was perfect with her youngest—Sammy had his normal color back, and was talking and laughing.  She tried not to feel the stab of jealousy or regret that she wasn't the one to provide comfort and safety for them.  They could only go forward from the present. 

“Is Gabriel a threat?” she asked.

“I don't know.”  Castiel turned to look back toward the bunker but couldn't see his brother.  “He has a mixed history with your sons.  The first few times they met he was masquerading as a Trickster.  He kept trying to teach them lessons—especially Sam.  It wasn't until Lucifer was released that they discovered his true identity.  But he _did_ die protecting them, and he gave them the information needed to lock Lucifer away again.  For what it's worth, he never tried to kill them in the past.”  Castiel decided to leave out the part where Gabriel had killed Dean hundreds of times while trapping Sam in a time-loop. 

“Do you know why he's here?  I mean, if God brought him back and he has all of Heaven and Earth at his disposal, why would Gabriel come here?”  Mary felt like she was trying to see an entire picture with just a few puzzle pieces.

“I will have to ask him,” Castiel said.  Turning back to the brothers, he saw Dean looking at them.  Castiel waved them over.  “How is Sam?”

“'m fine, Cas,” Sam mumbled into Dean's shirt.  Lifting his head, he saw a small bruise on Castiel's jaw. “Oh!  I'm sorry I hit you.”

Castiel smiled and the bruise disappeared.  “It is nothing, Sam.  I am glad you are alright.”

“So, what's the plan?” Dean asked, knowing they would need to return soon.  The sun was setting and the temperature was already starting to drop. 

Before anyone else could speak, Sam started, “I want to go back now.”

“Sam...” Dean protested with a grimace.

“No, I think it will be fine.  I mean, I know I panicked, but I wasn't expecting him.  I still wasn't all the way awake from that nightmare in the car, and my thoughts were everywhere, and when I felt his grace I just...panicked.”  He played with the buttons on Dean's shirt to try and hide his embarrassment.  “But I don't think he's here to hurt us.  Especially if Chuck and Amara were the ones to bring him back.  And I kinda want to hear why he's here.”

Dean sighed dramatically.  “I'll never understand the weird soft-spot for that dick.  Even after all the crap he put us through, you still wanted to make him an ally.  And that was before we knew he was Gabriel, the runaway archangel.”

“Well, he saved us, didn't he?  He sacrificed his life so we could escape _and_ he told us how to win.  Besides, God and His sister seem to be bringing back the people who can help us.”  Sam looked pointedly at their mother who smiled back. 

“Perhaps if I shielded you from his grace, the encounter will be less difficult for you,” offered Castiel. 

Sam nodded and they could almost see the wheels turning in his head.  “Yeah, that was what made me run.  Maybe if you block it and he, I dunno, dialed it back a bit then we could have a meltdown-free conversation.”  The blush on Sam's face made it look like he was suffering from a severe sunburn.

Castiel reached for the boy, and Dean reluctantly allowed the transfer.  “ **Do not feel ashamed,** ” he whispered to Sam, “ **You have survived suffering like no other creature on this earth.  And instead of becoming bitter or angry, you are stronger and kinder.** ” 

Sam smiled, not entirely convinced.  But he appreciated the words, knowing Castiel believed them. 

“Okay, let's go.” Dean said, poised for battle.

“Just a second,” Castiel stopped him, “let me tell Gabriel of our plans.  It may help to make things less confrontational.”  He closed his eyes and spoke to his brother through his grace.  _Gabriel?_

 _Yeah, bro?_ Gabriel's voice sounded eager and hesitant at once.

_The Winchesters and I are returning so we can all sit down and talk.  If possible, I need you to reign your grace in as much as you can._

_Um, okay.  Why?_

_Because Sam is very sensitive to it.  We must minimize his exposure until he is able to better shield himself on his own._

_Oh yeah, we definitely have to talk._

_Gabriel..._

_Okay, okay!  I'm dialing down my awesomeness.  Just get back here!_

“What is he doing?” Mary asked, bewildered at Castiel's blank expression.

“We call it 'angel radio.' He can talk to the other angels telepathically,” Dean explained.

“He is agreeable to our requests, and seems quite eager for our return,” Castiel reported.

“Well, I guess it's time to face the music,” Dean said.

“As long as it isn't Asia,” Sam muttered with a huff as he pressed his face into Castiel's shoulder.

*~*~*~*~*

The entered the garage to see Gabriel standing nervously in the exact spot they'd left him.  He seemed smaller now, more contained.  Sam was relieved to feel the absence of grace in the air.  It allowed him to look at the youngest archangel without pure panic.  He saw a strange smile form and his golden eyes widen when they locked on Sam.

Dean and Mary stood on either side of Castiel, ready to intervene if needed.  Sam felt Castiel's arms tighten as though to remind him that he was safe.  It was a little embarrassing how everyone felt the need to protect him now that he was small, but after several emotional meltdowns he supposed it was warranted. 

“Oh my Dad,” Gabriel breathed, “Is he...that really is Sam, isn't it?”

Sam nodded, but didn't say anything.

Dean stepped forward. “Yeah, it is.  And you are going to keep your distance, asshole.  Understand?”

Sam kicked Dean in the ribs with his toe in a reminder to keep civil. 

Gabriel laughed.  “Haven't changed a bit, have you Deano.  Still just a modern-day caveman, bursting with aggression.” 

“Only when my family is threatened,” Dean growled.

Gabriel raised his hands in surrender.  Then his smile faded and he shoved his hands into his pockets.  “I promise, I am not here to threaten your family.  Especially since it appears that your family is now part of my family too.”  The look of awe flooded his eyes again as he stared at Sam. 

Mary placed a hand on Dean's shoulder.  “Why don't we go inside?  I’ll make some coffee and we can all talk.”

Dean's body relaxed slightly and he nodded.  “Cas, you and Sam go ahead and get settled in the library.  We'll be right behind you.”

“Dean...” Sam started, but his brother cut him off.

“Sam, I'm not letting him out of my sight and he's not getting close to you until we know we can trust him.  Which may be never.”  Dean directed the last part to Gabriel.  The archangel pouted, and looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end nodded his agreement.  “Good, we're all agreed.  You two go now.  We have to unload the car anyway.”

Castiel moved toward the bunker, keeping an eye on his brother.  _Gabriel, I know you are impatient to have all your questions answered—especially about Sam.  But a lot has happened since you died and rushing anything could hurt him.  And if Sam gets hurt, it won't just be Dean you'd have to deal with._

Instead of getting defensive, Gabriel relaxed.  _Yeah, I can see that.  There are scars that go way below skin level on both of these boys that weren't there the last time I saw them.  I swear to you, Castiel, I am not here to cause anyone anymore harm._

Castiel made his way through the war room and into the library.  _I am looking forward to hearing what Father said to you after bringing you back—I know you do not make promises lightly._ He heard Gabriel snort over their mental link.

_Cassie, you got no idea._

* * *

Sam sat next to Castiel in the middle of the couch, lost in thought as they waited for the others.  Gabriel was always a source of conflict for him.  The archangel had repeatedly messed with them in horrible and unforgettable ways.  Sure, their first encounter was admittedly hilarious and once they'd learned how horrible the Trickster's victims had really been they stopped being indignant over their deaths.

But the Mystery Spot—that was a whole different ballgame.  Sam still struggled every time he heard “Heat of the Moment” play on the radio.  After the first few times, Dean had learned to switch the station or get them out of whatever public place they were in to avoid the fallout.  Lucifer's games in the cage had only served to cement the experience in his mind and push it to a completely different level of trauma. 

TV land was a mixed bag of humor and hurt and frustration.  Some of the scenarios were funny to look back on, but at the time they were so wrapped up in the Apocalypse that guilt and anger overshadowed their capacity for amusement.  Then, to find out that the Trickster was actually the archangel Gabriel had been a hard blow to Sam. 

Sam had entered that warehouse hopeful for an alliance with the Trickster.  He knew Dean saw it as yet another case of him trying to work with a monster, but they were desperate and losing ground.  When Gabriel's true identity was revealed, Sam had allowed himself to cling to the possibility that there could be _one_ angel to take his side.  Because every single angel he'd met up to that point had instantly seen him as an abomination.  Even Castiel, who eventually became a friend and ally, had hesitated to so much as shake his hand.  But Gabriel only wanted them to say yes to Michael and Lucifer—only saw them as pawns in a game he wanted to end.  

“ **You are very quiet, little one,** ” Castiel said after several minutes of silence.

Sam made a face at the nickname, but warmed at the affection.  “ **I am thinking.** ”

“ **Are you worried?** ”

“ **No.  Yes.  I not sure.  Worried why Gabriel here.  What he do.** ”  Sam chewed his lip as he kept watch for the others.  They could hear the rustle of plastic bags echoing from the garage and Gabriel laughing.

“ **I do not believe he will harm any of us.  He seems genuinely agreeable to our conditions and I do not think our Father would return him to life so he can continue as a trickster.** ”  Castiel put his arm around the boy's shoulders and drew him closer to his side.

Sam stiffened for a second—having spent most of his life isolated left him unused to constant touches.  Now, everyone kept carrying him and hugging him.  He forced himself to relax and struggled for the right words.  “ **I know.  But what he think of me?  Now is different.  Angels accept different?** ”

“ **I cannot speak for the entire host.  But I can tell you that Gabriel was known for his love of children—both human and fledglings alike.  Before the creation of the Earth, he was often seen playing with them and teaching them.  He was a prankster long before humans existed.  And he was a fierce protector of human children.  There was more than one occasion when Heaven had to reel him in after he started smiting those he saw as harmful to young ones.** ”

Sam smiled at the image of Gabriel as the playful big brother to scores of little angels.  It was easier to understand the evolution of archangel-to-trickster if one factored in the righteous sense of justice with the devastation of witnessing his beloved family torn apart.  Especially having witnessed it to a certain extent within his own family.  John Winchester's devotion to his wife and children had twisted into a life dedicated to revenge regardless of the cost to his sons.

His thoughts were interrupted by the bizarre sight of Gabriel effortlessly carrying what appeared to be at least two dozen shopping bags, followed by Mary with the few groceries in one hand.  Dean hovered protectively like a hawk clutching an angel blade from the trunk.  Mary looked through the entrance to the library, smiling at them on the couch.  “I'm going to run these into the kitchen before the food spoils and start some coffee.  Do you two want anything?”

“Coffee sounds great,” Sam said automatically. 

She frowned.  “Are you sure?

Sam felt his jaw clench.  “Why, because I'm _small_?”

Mary's frown changed into a full-body posture Sam had only ever seen Dean direct at him—it was the look Sam affectionately called “mom-mode” and he now realized just how very effective and intimidating it was coming from his actual mother.  “No, not _just_ because you are small, although we could have a conversation about how certain things will now have a greater effect on you with a diminished physical body.  But we can save that for a time when we aren't about to have a conference with some newly resurrected archangel who clearly has a history with everyone here except myself,” she took a deep breath, “No, I'm asking if you are sure because you have had a very difficult day emotionally and caffeine can make anxiety worse.”

Sam gulped and brought his knees up to his chest in an attempt to ward off the twist of shame and disappointment in his stomach.  He felt his cheeks burning.  “I—I'll just take a water.  Please.” 

Mary softened at the change, worried she had overstepped her bounds.  “Sammy...”

“How about some hot chocolate?  Mine is the best in at least three universes.  I could make it while you handle the coffee,” Gabriel offered with that strange mix of eagerness and hesitance from before—like he desperately wanted them to accept him but had long forgotten how to use anything other than power and charm to get what he wanted. 

Sam shook his head without looking up, “No, thanks, water is fine.”   There was no way his stomach could handle anything rich or sweet at this point. 

“Okay...I'll be right back,” she paused before leaving, then turned to Gabriel with a small smile, “Maybe you could make it for us tomorrow?  I mean, if you're still here and don't have to leave.  And Dean doesn't try to stab you.”  Her oldest son was still hovering with the blade, but Gabriel just laughed.

“Oh, I like you!” he said delightedly, then leaned in for an exaggerated whisper, “And it wouldn't be the first time he's stabbed me.  In fact, I might even be a little disappointed if he doesn't try.”

Mary gave him a bizarre look.  “I really hope you explain that when I get back.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said as he ushered Mary toward the kitchen.  “Don't worry, Mom, I'm sure he'll regale us all with how powerful and awesome he is.  Believe me, I'd be surprised if _you_ don't stab him by the end of the night.”

“Deano, you _almost_ wound me!” Gabriel scoffed as he deposited the bags on the war room table. “Wait, did you say 'mom?'  As in Mary Winchester?  What in Dad's name have you guys been up to?”

Dean just grabbed the archangel by the scruff of his jacket, dragged him down the few steps into the library, and pushed him into the seat of the couch across from Sam and Castiel.  “Park it, short-stuff.”

“So aggressive...” Gabriel muttered as he straightened his jacket.  His eyes fell on the two in front of him and he leaned back into the cushions.  The seriousness was back as he studied them, tilting his head to better focus on Sam. 

Sam felt uneasy in the heavy silence as they waited for Mary's return.  He needed a distraction from the painful exchange with his mother, and luckily one was sitting not four feet away.  Now that Gabriel's grace wasn't overpowering the room and pressing against his skin, it was easier to concentrate on specific details.  It was strange to feel how he differed from the other angels he'd known. 

Michael and Lucifer were complete opposites to one another—one burned hot as the sun, the other cold as deep space.  But both were sharp enough to effortlessly shred through his soul.  Gadreel had been heavy and smothering, like drowning in mud.  And Castiel's was like a perfect rain—always running either warm or cool, never too extreme. 

This was the first time Sam really felt Gabriel's grace.  Their previous encounters were all before he had gained experience in sensing the essence of angels.  Now, he was in the presence of his third archangel, and it was not what he expected.  Gabriel's grace was like the wind.  It swirled through the smaller man's vessel in a powerful vortex of playful energies.

Sam gasped as a wave of dizziness made the world tilt.  The hand resting on his shoulder moved up to his forehead and the sensation faded into a throbbing ache.  “ **Try not to focus on him.  You are causing your grace to reach out.  I may not be able to shield you if it is actively seeking him.** ”

“ **Sorry! I not know. Just thoughts!** ” Sam clenched his eyes closed and tried to ignore the feeling of failure.

Castiel heard his thoughts and ran fingers through the sweaty curls.  A glance at Gabriel showed his surprise at hearing Sam speak Enochian and there was an undercurrent of concern echoing through their connection.  Dean came and sat beside Gabriel, turning slightly to keep an eye on everyone.

“ **You have not failed at anything tonight, Samuel.  It will take a lot of time and effort before you are capable of controlling these abilities.** ”  He had the feeling that he would be repeating these words often in the near future.

“ **No, I failed.  I rude and... and...** ” Sam broke off, not having the words to express his sense of guilt.  He saw his mother's stern face directed at him and the crushing knowledge that he had already disappointed her. 

“ **You did not disappoint your mother, Samuel,** ” Castiel reassured as Sam shook his head in denial.  “ **Hush, you are tired and in pain.  You have experienced several life-altering events in less than a week—any one of which would consume even the strongest person.  We will all need to be patient with each other as we adjust.  And patient with ourselves.** ”

 _Castiel, what the hell happened after I died?_   Gabriel's voice whispered in Castiel's mind.

 _Too much, brother, too much._ Castiel sadly replied.

Mary's entrance was a welcome break to the heaviness of the room.  Gabriel started to stand and help her, but Dean pushed him back down as he rose instead.  She had brought a tray with their coffees, a bottle of water, and small dishes with cream and sugar.

Sam sipped the cold liquid and was grateful for the way it doused the burning in his throat.  He sat huddled against Castiel with one arm wrapped around his knees.  When Mary sat on his other side, he almost jumped.  She seemed to read everything he was thinking and feeling on his face.

“I'm sorry if I upset you,” she said softly as the others fixed their drinks.

Sam turned in surprise, unsure how to respond to a parent's apology.  “No, it's my fault.  I should have just listened instead of being all defensive.  You were right—the coffee would make me more on edge.  And the water feels better on my throat.”

Mary smiled and leaned down to place a kiss on his temple.  It calmed the swirls of conflict and loosened the tightness in his chest.  She turned to Gabriel.  “Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I am ready for some answers.”

Gabriel froze with his coffee halfway to his mouth.  “Right,” he said, carefully setting it back down on the table, “I guess that's my cue.”  Taking a deep breath, he began, “Well, the last thing I remembered was Lucifer stabbing me through the chest with his blade and then a whole lot of nothing.  Archangels don't go to purgatory, or some special 'angel heaven.'  No, we are made from the same fundamental fabric of the universe and when we die, we disintegrate back into the ether.  So, when I suddenly found myself standing in a bar with Dad and Aunt Amara—well, 'surprised' is an understatement.

“We, uh, talked for a long time.  Once we got past the crying-laughing-hugging portion of the conversation, He dove right into the 'why I brought you back to life' part.  Apparently,” he gave Dean and Castiel a pointed look, “all the other archangels are now indisposed except Lucifer.  Well, he's sorta indisposed.  He's circling a potential vessel right now, so he could very well be back in the game at any time.”

Sam gasped as Castiel and Dean both straightened in their seats.  After Amara had expelled Lucifer from Castiel's vessel, none of them were sure he was even alive.  In all the craziness of the last couple days, he had almost forgotten about the possibly-rogue archangel.  But to hear he had not only survived, but could soon be back in a vessel was terrifying. 

“What do you mean he's found a vessel?” Dean demanded.

“Do you know where?” Castiel followed and then the two continued to fire off questions, talking over each other while Gabriel just blinked and tried to follow.

Sam stared blankly at his knees.  All he could see was Lucifer's face—Nick's face—laughing at him from a great height.  He stood no chance against the Devil now.  Not when he couldn't even out-run his mother.  He felt someone take the water bottle from his grasp and gently hold his hand.  Turning, he saw his mother's concerned eyes taking in the explosive reactions.

“Everyone needs to calm down,” Mary's voice was soft, but firm enough that everyone immediately fell silent.  “I get that this is bad news.  I may not know most of the story yet, but even I can understand that the devil being loose is a concern.  I also know that freaking out about it will not give us solutions.  Right?”  They all nodded—even Gabriel.  “Good.  Now, Gabriel, _is_ this something that needs to be figured out tonight?  Is he an immediate threat?”

Gabriel shrugged, still reeling a little from everything, “I don't think so.  Even if he was able to enter his vessel tonight, I doubt he'd come running here.  I mean, Dad said Luci was working _with_ you guys when Amara kicked him from Cas, so I didn't get the impression that there was some big score to settle.  Is there?”  He looked between Dean and Castiel.

“I have a score to settle,” Castiel answered, “and I do not think it wise to allow him free roam on earth.  But Sam is my priority.  I do not want to do anything that would risk his safety, including giving Lucifer any reason to return here.”

“Excuse me,” Mary said in a tone somewhere between confused and angry, “you were all working with Lucifer?  And when you say 'vessel' do you mean...what _do_ you mean?”

“Yeah, about that...” Dean answered when no one else spoke up, “Long story short?  We've lived through our share of apocalypses.  The most recent one involved Amara, or the Darkness.  She is God's sister and She was _pissed_ because God locked Her away before the creation of this world.  It took the combined power of God and all four archangels back then, and when She, uh, escaped, we didn't have any of those people.  We ended up busting Lucifer back out of his Cage in hell, then Chuck showed up, and it took a bunch of angels, demons, and witches joining us to try and take Her out.  Which, actually, didn't work.  Turns out, They just needed to talk their shit out, and that was that.  Amara was actually the one to bring you back, mom.  As a thank you.”

“Wow.  Okay, that's going to need some revisiting later.  So, what about vessels?”

Castiel answered, “Angels have no physical form—if a human saw us in our true form, it burns out their eyes.  We require a human vessel, but we must have their consent before inhabiting their body.”

Mary glared between Castiel and Gabriel.  “Are you telling me that you two are possessing humans?” She turned to Dean, “And you guys are okay with that?”

“Actually, you've met the two exceptions to the rule!  I made this fabulous work of art myself, so it is human-soul free.” Gabriel dramatically gestured to his face and body.

“I was blown up by Raphael.  God brought me back and recreated this vessel.  Jimmy Novak was a very devout man who embraced the experience when it was asked of him.  He is now in Heaven with his wife.”  Castiel decided not to go into the terrible events that followed the Novak family since he took residence in Jimmy.  

“Moving on!” Dean interjected, trying to keep the conversation geared toward less touchy subjects.  He turned back to Gabriel.  “So why did Chuck bring you back?”

“He said that He was planning an extended vacation to play catch-up with His sister and wanted to set the angels back on their original path.  As guardians, healers, messengers, warriors, yadda yadda.  He realizes that everyone kinda went on autopilot last time He stepped out.  So, He's bringing back the whole gang.”

“You mean Michael and Raphael?” Sam breathed, blood pounding in his ears.

Gabriel nodded, taking in the way Sam's face drained of color. 

“But—but Michael was driven crazy in the Cage, and Raphael tried to take over Heaven to restart the Apocalypse!”  Sam pushed Mary's hand away and sat forward so his legs hung over the edge of the cushions, ready to move if needed.  “Why would Chuck bring them back if He isn't going to stick around to keep them in line?  Why would He do _this_ to me,” he grabbed at his kid-sized shirt as red-hot anger built in his chest, “ _heal_ me, and make me defenseless—useless in a fight...”

Castiel tentatively laid a hand on Sam's shoulder to get his attention.  “ **Samuel, you must calm down...** ”

“ **Fuck calm!** ” Sam snarled, the heat spreading through his limbs until he was shaking.  He slapped Castiel's hand off of him and jumped to his feet.  The need to move, to be alone, to escape everything drove him toward his bedroom. 

“ **Samuel!  Stop right now!** ” Castiel's voice was stern enough to make Sam pause and look back.  The angel was on his feet and walking swiftly toward him.  “ **I know you are upset, but...** ”

“ **You know nothing! Nothing, stupid angel!** ” Sam squared off against Castiel.  He saw hurt flash in those bright blue eyes, but the angel didn't back down.  Black wings rose up, ready for defense or flight.  The sight made Sam clench his hands into fists.  Fire flowed through his veins, fueling his fury with power. 

Suddenly, the thunder of wings roared behind him.  He spun around and came face-to-face with Gabriel in all his glory.  Six blazing wings lowered to frame the figure who now towered over him, arms crossed over his chest.  The whiskey colored eyes now shone with golden grace.  “ **If you do not control your anger, then you are going to hurt people with your grace.  Your brother and mother cannot protect themselves against such an attack.  Is that what you want?  To hurt your family?** ”  Gabriel's words were harsh, but they cut through the fog of rage. 

Sam inhaled sharply and looked back at the others.  They all stood, staring at him.  Dean and Mary seemed lost, not knowing the words being spoken but recognizing the emotions.  Castiel hadn't moved, but the hurt in his eyes had changed to sorrow.  Shame surged through his inner fire, and Sam fell to his knees when the shaking turned into violent trembling.  The power burned under his skin so he wrapped his arms around himself and folded himself over to rest his forehead on the ground, trying to keep it contained. 

“Oh, kiddo,” he heard Gabriel sigh just before hands grabbed him by the armpits and hoisted him back against the archangel's chest.  There was no time to panic as those hands moved to cover his chest and forehead.  “ **Just relax, little guy.  Your grace is surging and has nowhere to go.   Just relax and breathe and let me help.** ”

Sam braced himself, expecting to feel the archangel's grace tear through him.  Instead, the buildup of fire shifted back through his body and swirled in his chest.  For a heartbeat, it seared his ribs and lungs, then suddenly began draining outward as though being pulled by the hand resting there.  The trembling and burning died down and Sam gulped in air when his lungs began to work again.  The air felt like ice in his chest, but it soothed away the remaining heat. 

“That's it, Sammy.  Almost there,” Gabriel's voice sounded distant as Sam's muscles went lax and he had no choice but to relax completely.  Another set of hands unfolded his legs so they were stretched out.  He wanted to see who it was, wanted to make sure everyone was okay and let them know he was sorry, but his eyes were too heavy to open.  He felt Gabriel's hand move through his sweat-drenched hair.  “There you go.  Everyone is safe and sound, so you just rest.” 

And with that, Sam sank completely into the darkness of sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come be my friend on Tumblr @theriverscribe  
> Comments feed my soul!!


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